Baby Tell Me You're Not Leaving
by HerRavenBoys
Summary: "Isabelle's room was a sanctuary to Simon, it was safe: like home." -oneshot.


Baby Tell Me You're Not Leaving.

_nothing goes as planned, everything will break. people say goodbye, in their own special way._

**A/N:** Hey guys, sorry I've been absent for so long. I just started high school and things are crazy, but I'm back. I promise I'll also try to update that Emily/Toby story. This story was written at two a.m, so I hope it turns out fine. And the title and story are inspired by the song Rainy Season by Hunter Hayes. Enjoy! :)

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He was due to leave in a few days. Each second that went by bringing his departure date closer and closer. Isabelle wished she could stop time, to keep him frozen where he was, to keep him next to her, to keep him from leaving her side. The two had been inseparable for the past two weeks, their fingers interlaced so tightly, her knuckles turning white; the only time they would separate was to shower, use the bathroom, or change their clothes, and when Izzy had to go on missions.

At night, they lay wound up in each other's arms, limbs tangled together so tightly it was hard to differentiate whose legs were whose. Though he radiated no body heat, he offered her comfort. He would run his hands through her hair when the nightmares plagued her, and gently wiped her tears when she awoke gasping and sweaty, sobbing over her constant dreams of him being ripped from her arms, and being left all alone in the dark.

Whenever either of them weren't within eyesight of each other, they would slowly start to panic, trying to find one another. It sounded possessive, even crazy, but they couldn't risk being separated, they just couldn't. Two days later, as she changed into gear, she informed Simon that she was going with Clary on a mission. But he didn't let her set foot outside her bedroom door without pulling her in for a kiss, a soft yet passion filled touch of the lips, then pulling her into an embrace and inhaling the smell of her: flowery perfume, strawberry shampoo, and that special Shadowhunter aroma.

She'd pull away, and grab her dagger from under a pile of clothes on the floor, and flash him a smile before turning down the hallway, disappearing in a wave of black hair, heeled boots clicking on the hardwood. A few hours later, his two favorite girls would return; bruised, sweaty, hair disarranged, the scent of demons lingering. Iratze's burned into their arms, their necks. Clary would engulf Simon in a hug, and tell him that they'd meet up soon, before placing a platonic kiss on his cheek, and limping to Jace's room.

Exhausted, Izzy would jump into the shower, find fresh clothes; then climb into Simon's arms. She would tell him how she loved the experiencing the high of battle, the adrenaline singing in her veins, as she sliced through the demons with the perfect precision that only a seraph blade could deliver. He would tell her that he was proud of her. She would laugh and nuzzle herself into the crook of his neck. Her laughter was a beautiful sound, and he could listen to her laugh all night, but he didn't want to wake anyone up. Isabelle's heart beat always rose when she saw Simon. It might sound cliche; but sometimes it felt like she couldn't breathe until she was him.

There were times when they got heavy, and his body would be over hers, his hands tangled in the inky waterfall of her hair, while her fingers ran up and down the cold smooth skin of his back. Ever since he had bitten her, a strong bond of some sort seemed to grow between them, like an emotional tether. He didn't drink her blood often, only when he needed it, but when he did, he was always reluctant."But what if I hurt you?" Simon's voice was always laced with the same anxiety. "I'm a Shadowhunter, I can fight you off if I have to." Isabelle's would say, her voice certain, soft. Her fingers played with his hair. "But -" "Simon, it's okay. I told you the first time, we replace blood at triple the rate of mundane's."

Then she would look up into his eyes. "It's better than cold animal blood." Nephilim blood was ten times better than cold animal blood, which always had an awful after taste that lingered on his tongue. He would always watch as she pushed her hair to one side, leaving the smooth side of neck exposed.

His fangs would pop out at the sight of the blue veins pulsing under her skin. Then the fangs would break the surface of her skin, lodging themselves into a vein, as blood poured into his mouth: the hot and salty of human; the underlying sweetness of angel. Isabelle's grip would tighten on his shoulders, her nails pressed into his collarbone. "Drink until your okay." She would murmur into his ear, followed by a gasp.

Slowly, he would pull out his fangs, and they would retract. He would then press his mouth to hers, resulting in a clash of tongue. He clung to her as if she were a lifeline. "Thank you." "Anything for you," she would reply, as she grabbed for her stele, and he watched as she carved an Iratze into her neck, and the two puncture wounds he'd created would heal, the skin stretching over the wounds, and leaving behind two barely there small white circles, as the smell of a newly burned mark filled his nose.

Isabelle's eyes would then droop, and sleep would claim her. Slowly, he'd pry the stele from her red polished fingers and set it on the bedside table. In the dark, he had no problem seeing her room. It was messy, clothes haphazardly strewn across the floor, leather boots and stilettos piled in one corner. Jewelry cluttered the top of a dresser; daggers and a seraph blade or two were placed carefully on racks, within reach for when of an emergency were to occur. Curtains concealed the window, the edges coated with dust from where they brushed the floor. Isabelle's room felt like a sanctuary to Simon. There was something about it, that felt safe and reassuring: like home.

The day of Simon's departure was tomorrow. Simon and Isabelle spent the day together, and no one had the nerve to separate them. They ate at Taki's, and walked around Central Park hand in hand. They sat on the bench and shared a soft pretzel - which thankfully stayed down for Simon - and coffee (a liberal amount of milk and two sugars, the way Isabelle liked it.) Nighttime quickly took over New York, painting the sky a starry bluish black. They returned to the Institute at three a.m., and quietly slid into Isabelle's room, cautious not to wake anyone. He politely covered his eyes as she changed into a worn t-shirt of his with the words: _made in Brooklyn_, and a pair of red shorts. He then stripped off his socks, and t-shirt, leaving him in his jeans.

Isabelle's voice was a whisper, "Simon, I'm so scared about tomorrow." Tears glistened in her eyes. Simon cupped her cheek, stroking it with delicacy. "I know Izzy, I am too." He watched as the tears fell down her cheeks, and this time he didn't wipe them away. Then her hands were at his neck, and she placed her lips against his; urgent and needing. Simon pressed her against the mattress, his hands traveling from her hair, her waist, settling on the small of her back. His fingers were cold, but she didn't care. Then he pulled at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over her head, and throwing it onto the ground. His lips caught hers again with a bruising pressure, the warmth of her breath filling his mouth. Isabelle tasted the sweetness of the sugar from the coffee on Simon's tongue. Her fingers fluttered against the waistband of his jeans, and he discarded them, the denim joining the shirt on the floor. Simon broke away, and looked into her eyes.

Even in the dark, he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, which were burning with emotion. They were nothing but moving shadow's in the darkness of her room. "Are you sure Iz?" Her ruby pendant flashing like a warning. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life." She pulled him down on top of her. Simon kissed her not once, not twice, but three times before pulling away again. "What about - Do you have - " Isabelle's palms captured his face. "Tonight, I just want _you_. Every single inch of skin, everything." Before Simon could speak again, Isabelle had brought him down, his chest against hers; as her mouth moved with his. Simon's awkward fingers found the waistband of her shorts, and pulled them down, just as her hands found the waistband of his boxers. Somewhere in the midst of them kissing, her undergarments were all removed, leaving them skin to skin. "I love you, Isabelle Sophia Lightwood." "I love you, Simon Lewis."

By the time the two got out of bed, it was late evening; (9:20 PM according to Simon's beat up cellphone). Isabelle and Simon put on their clothes in a daze, feeling as if they were walking through water. Nothing felt real. They exited her bedroom and headed into Simon's unused bedroom, where he pulled out a suitcase from under the bed and began filling it up with clothes from the dressers, that Isabelle helped carefully fold, until all his clothes were removed. He zipped up the suitcase, and pulled out the handle, before grabbing her hand and closing the door behind him.

The next forty minutes were a blur of sounds and colors. Clary had stolen Simon away for ten minutes to say goodbye, returning with a tear streaked face and tired green eyes. Simon kissed her forehead, and quietly said goodbye to Jace. They even hugged, not before Simon telling Jace to take care of Clary, and warning him that if he ever broke her heart he would be back to kick his demon fighting ass back to Idris. He then moved on to Alec and Magnus, who hugged him a little too tightly, but he didn't mind. Then his phone beeped at 10 PM.

He looked around for Isabelle. She was now where in sight. With a sigh, he stepped through the doors of the institute and into the rain. He had only walked down the steps and reached the gate before hearing a familiar voice. "So, I guess this is where we say farewell?" He turned to see Isabelle standing a few feet away, her black hair matted by the rain. He dropped his suitcase, and walked towards her, in four long strides. "I don't want to leave you, I don't." She was crying now, her tears mixing with the rain.

"It's going to be so fucking hard without you. I can't do it. I can't." He held her face in her hands. "I know, it's going to be hard for me too. But you are Isabelle Lightwood, and you are tough, beautiful, and perfect." "It's just not fair, Jace and Clary have been through hell and back, they've been separated, Jace had been demonically possessed, and yet they've never had to say goodbye to each other." Simon said nothing, he couldn't find any words. "Please Simon, please don't fucking leave me, please." Isabelle's words caught at Simon's unbeating heart. "I wish I could stay, more than anything." "I'll fight for you, we all will! Alec has a spot on the council, the Clave will have to listen to us! I'll fight until they - " He stopped her words with a bruising kiss. This time it was Isabelle who clung to him, because he was her lifeline.

"Izzy, I have to go. You know that in your heart there's nothing any of you can do." He looked into her broken, red veined eyes. "I am so fucking sorry it had to end like this. But just know, I will always love you. You are my everything, and it will stay that way forever." Isabelle sobbed into his chest, while he petted her wet hair. "I have to go," he said, his voice cracking, and gently pulled Isabelle off him.

Isabelle watched in a trance as Simon grabbed his suitcase, and opened the gate. He turned back to look at her one last time, before disappearing down the sidewalk. She hadn't realized that she had collapsed upon the wet grass, wishing the rain would wash away every bit of her existence. Isabelle was oblivious to a pair of hands lifting her up, and carrying her back inside the Institute. After what seemed like hours, she opened her eyes and looked up to see Clary laying next to her. She looked around. She was in Clary's room. "He - He's gone." Clary's green eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry Iz." Then Clary protectively embraced Isabelle as she sobbed into her shoulder, and Clary's own tears fell into Isabelle's hair.


End file.
